


Shooting Party

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice, Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Demons, Developing Friendships, First Meetings, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's drawn to a stranger's presumptive hard-luck story - which becomes a whole lot tougher once he gets involved..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting Party

It was the laugh that got Sam’s attention as he crossed the Drowned Rat’s doorstep. It sounded like a tommy gun going off – rat-a-tat-tat, all nerves and hysteria. That was the sound of a man trying to hide his suffering, a passable fake laugh that came out whenever somebody had said something he knew was funny and yet he didn’t feel enough to give them one from the gut. Sam always was a sucker for that sort of person, the half-muffled sob hiding laughter behind a folded palm; fixing sob stories was his business after all. Besides, the bar was a sausage fest tonight – and one scan of the room told him the blonde he’d been bird-dogging all week isn’t around tonight.

“Hey,” he said, sitting beside the guy. “So how about them…”

He trailed off when he was confronted by the guy’s face – no, not his expression, his features, which resembled his very own – well, minus thirty years.

The guy in question didn’t seem thrilled either. In fact, he looked sort of freaked out. Sam couldn’t even blame him on that account; wasn’t every day you got a glimpse into some weird funhouse mirror. Sam opened his mouth. The guy held up his hands.

“Vodka, Bobby,” said Sam to the bartender.

Bobby’s eyes darted from one face to the other, abject confusion written on his features. “But Mister Axe, when you have vodka…”

“Pronto, Bobby.”

“I don’t mean any trouble, man,” the guy said. “I don’t know who you are or what you are, but if you don’t try any funny business, I won’t hurt you.”

“Got it. Name’s Sam,” he said, thrusting a hand toward the guy.

He took it in his own. His very metallic own. “Ash.”

Sam tried not to cringe at the guy’s grip but squeezed out a laugh. “Bet there’s a story behind that.”

“Yeah,” said Ash. He turned toward the bar. “And it’d make your piss your Depends, man, so I’ll stop myself from telling it.”

“C’mon,” Sam laughed. “It can’t be that bad,” he said. 

The guy rolled his eyes. “It all started with a cabin, a girl…and a book.”

But whatever else he meant to tell Sam was suddenly cut off by a strong gust of wind, and a sharp flicker of the overhead lights. When the bartender whipped around he wasn’tt holding Sam’s double, but he was grinning like a maniac, white-eyed and drooling some kind of green substance.

Ash knocked the wind out of Sam shoving him off the stool and out of the way ; suddenly he’s all action. Sam heard a gun cocking, then saw the sparking blast of a rifle in the quasi-darkness. Without thinking, Sam reached for his own gun.

“Stay down! Are you crazy!?” Ash shouted, mounting the nearby pool table, shooting down at the now-crawling bartender as he dripped ooze in endless rivers across the floor.

Sam just whistled. “Hey pal!”

Ash got off half a round and the guy kept on coming until Sam took him out with a quick blast to the face. The lights returned to life, and then they surveyed the damage in shell-shocked amazement. “Damn. Didn’t even waste a pun on him, did ya?” Ash asked, staring at the smoking crater that was once the bartender’s face. Sam raised an eyebrow but made no further remark – must be something hidden in the man’s technique. Ash shrugged. “I owe you a beer after this,” he said.

“I only pun in the direction of the very best,” Sam said, flopping onto the nearest stool.

“Y’know the story I was gonna tell you?” Ask said. “That’s it,” he said, gesturing toward. “My whole life. People exploding in goo and assholes trying to rip my face off.“

Sam quietly surveyed the damage. And then he spouted forth a plan. “Pal,” Sam said, “lemme tell you about an old pal of mine. His name’s Mike Westen…”

“No offense, man, but I don’t think your friend can help me out,” said Ash.

“Buddy,” Sam grinned. “You don’t know Mike.”

Ash thought about it, then shrugged. What did he have left to lose?

They talked long into the night about death. But more importantly, they also talked about living.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **The Evil Dead Series** as well as **Burn Notice** , all of whom are the property of **Rosebud Releasing/Ghost House Prod** and **USA Network**. No money was earned from the writing of this piece of fanfiction, and the author makes no legal claim upon the characters within.


End file.
